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The question escaped before I thought about it.

He stopped moving. Not defensive exactly. Just closed. I almost apologized.

Instead, he picked up one piece of roasted meat, tried it, chewed, and swallowed.

I waited. “Well?”

“It is acceptable.”

I stared at him. “That might be the saddest review of food I’ve ever heard.”

“It is food.”

“You really don’t enjoy anything, do you?”

His gaze lifted. That landed differently. I knew it immediately. The room changed. Not dramatically. Just enough.

I looked away. “Sorry.”

“You have asked similar questions before.”

“I know.”

“And you continue.”

“That sounds like me.”

He set the food down.

For several seconds, neither of us spoke.

Then he said, “I did.”

I looked back. “What?”

“Enjoy things.”

Past tense.

That caught me.

“When?”

His eyes moved toward the window. “Before.”

That word carried too much weight.

Before Ghost. Before death. Before whatever happened to him.

I leaned back. “You were military.”

“Yes.”

“Strike Commander?”

His attention snapped toward me.

I smiled a little. “That was a guess.”